


Professor Rogers

by TalkMarvelToMe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Artist Steve Rogers, Clumsy Clint Barton, F/M, M/M, Matchmaker Natasha Romanov, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Professor Steve Rogers, Science Nerd Bucky Barnes, Student Bucky Barnes, Teacher-Student Relationship, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-17 10:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalkMarvelToMe/pseuds/TalkMarvelToMe
Summary: To: Natremember steve?To: Buckthe twink from high schoolthat you were in love withare*and have been for ages but finally got your head out of your ass to realizeTo: NatYEShe’s hereTo: Buck...okI’m going to need you to use your words, James. How do we proceed? There’s a lot that one with my skill set can do with this information.To: Nathe’s the art profneed intelTo: BuckSay no more.





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> The entire story has been written; I am currently waiting on my beta to finish edits! Updates should be approximately daily over the next week.
> 
> Enjoy.

Bucky shouldered his bag once more, practically demanding himself to _not_ be late to his last first class of his undergrad career. 

_One more semester_ , he mentally groaned. 

Although, truth be told, he was thrilled with his course load this semester: an upper division physics course and corresponding lab that he’d be lying by saying he didn’t crack the book open early in anticipation, advanced anatomy and physiology that fulfilled his elective credit, and his second and final senior thesis course focused on biomedical engineering.

So what, Bucky Barnes was a nerd.

But, he was also a _non-traditional student_ , per his counselor. Bucky had readily agreed; he didn’t need anyone to remind him of the fact that he stood out like a sore thumb on campus. Being nearly thirty and having only ¾ of your appendages tends to do that.

Now what Bucky didn’t agree with his counselor on was this whole Arts and Humanities requirement. Who needed to take an art course when they were majoring in biomedical engineering?

 _This institution is known for moulding well-rounded graduates_ , Ms. Counselor informed.

“Well-rounded my ass,” Bucky grumbled as he made his way into a building he’d never previously set foot in. 

Getting a nasty look from a passing freshman that Bucky swore looked younger than when he started _high school_ , the brunet sidestepped into the lecture hall with mere seconds to spare. 

Shuffling through his bag, Bucky pulled out a fresh spiral, glaring longingly at the blue spiral still residing in his bag - the spiral he _really_ wanted to pull out and sift through. The spiral that held all the information for his thesis from brainstorming to drawn prosthetic schematics, some of which had already been expounded upon and uploaded onto the ever evolving final document on his laptop. With a back up. Or two. One could never be too cautious. 

“Alright, class,” a booming voice from the front broke Bucky’s glare. The spiral would have to wait...at least for the _first_ class. Although, he could probably get away with busting it out during the syllabus rundown, that never changed no matter the course-

“Welcome to ART 3021, if that’s not the class you have scheduled for this block, I suggest you take your leave now,” the professor amusedly spoke, eliciting some faint chuckles - _brown nosers_ \- and two less-than-swift departures. 

A snort to Bucky’s left made the brunet aware of his jaw which was currently hanging open. However, Bucky couldn’t even care enough to close his mouth - at least not immediately - because before him, at the front of his class, was a pair of eyes he would recognize anywhere. 

Steve. Little Stevie Rogers standing at the front of a lecture hall looking like a god damned tank and going by _professor_. Or...looked like a god damned tank dressed as a professor with those khakis that may work with the blue button up if only it wasn’t _tucked in_ , Jesus Christ Steven.

This really was the same person he hadn’t seen in years, ten years. 

_“Stevie, you know I hate it too. But...it’s fine,” seventeen year old Bucky spoke with confidence and levity only a teen could have. “We’ll still talk.”_

_A forced smile broke the small blond’s features, “right,” was the whispered agreement._

_“And, it’s not like it’ll be forever, we’re still going to college together, right?”_

_Rubbing his shoulder from the gentle punch Bucky threw his way, Steve shrugged once more, “I dunno, like I said it depends on what the docs say.”_

_“Come on boys, you two won’t be that far apart. We’re not even leaving the east coast - just a few hours drive.”_

_Sarah Rogers’s voice prompted hastened goodbyes. Goodbyes that ended with those same blue eyes staring back at him from the rear window of Steve’s mom’s car._

But, Steve never made that drive again. Neither had Bucky. Despite the promises of reacquainting in college, all communication had ceased mere months later with no rationale. 

Schooling his expression and shooting the disruptive student to his right a glare - _just wonderful, it’s that freshman again_ \- Bucky did the only logical thing and yanked out his laptop for some serious reconnaissance. And his phone to call in backup. 

**To: Nat**  
remember steve?

 **To: Buck**  
the twink from high school  
that you were in love with  
are*  
and have been for ages but finally got your head out of your ass to realize  
(. . .)

 **To: Nat**  
YES  
he’s here

 **To: Buck**  
...ok  
I’m going to need you to use your words, James. How do we proceed? There’s a lot that one with my skill set can do with this information.

The stark contrast from sentence fragments to full-names-and-punctuation gave Bucky pause. Nat was serious. What was her goal here? What was _his_ goal here? Recon, right.

 **To: Nat**  
he’s the art prof  
need intel

 **To: Buck**  
Say no more.

Setting down his phone, Bucky took one last glance at Steve, who was talking about who knows what, before reorienting his focus to his laptop, typing in the blond’s name in the search engine. He couldn’t wait for Nat’s results. 

In the beginning, he shamelessly googled Steve’s name to no avail. After his tours, he couldn’t give himself a valid reason to even open the search engine. 

What if his stalking was fruitful and he actually _found_ Steve? What would he tell the blond? Would he have to be _honest_?

_Hey, Steve. Dick move for ignoring me for so long. But, I think I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve even known I like both penis and vagina. Oh yeah, surprise, I’m bi!_

Absolutely not. 

And what if Bucky searched and he was happily married with 2.5 kids and a white picket fenced in yard for a dog and-

His gaze promptly snapped forward, hearing the well known sound of Steve’s laughter. Of course he’d never forget that. Bucky squinted, trying to decipher what was so damn entertaining on syllabus day. Hmm, source unknown. 

Recon may continue. 

Quickly skimming the search results, Bucky found the second link to be seemingly legitimate. 

_Steven Rogers is an assistant professor at New York University’s Steinhardt School of Culture at the New York Campus. Rogers enjoys spending his time working on his latest pieces for his next gallery showing or spending time with his..._

“With his _what_ , dammit,” Bucky cursed at the computer, this time not even sparing a glance to annoying freshman’s throat clearing. Clicking on the link, he was rewarded with the remainder of the sentence. 

_-or spending time with his dog, Star._

Bucky furrowed his brows, _who names their dog Star?_ But, at least it’s a dog and not a spouse. And why the hell does this bio sound like a quick blurb for a dating profile? 

A ding interrupted his not-so-successful searching. 

**To: Buck**  
28 yo.  
Assistant Prof at NYU, 3 years.  
Faculty lead for student LGBTQ+ club.  
MA in studio art.  
Grad 8 yrs ago from medical trial.  
(. . .)

Scanning through Nat’s incoming texts as fast as his eyes would allow, he knew he needed confirmation on one factoid. Stat. 

**To: Nat**  
married?

Awaiting her reply, Bucky furiously clicked the browser’s back button, selected a new link, Rate My Professor, and began skimming through user comments. 

_...prof rogers is totally the hottest prof on campus…_

_...I don’t even remember what class was abt but he was a site for sore eyessss…_

And the next just included a paragraph full of chilli emojis. 

Recon unsuccessful. 

Hopefully Nat had better luck. Who is he kidding, of course she did. 

**To: Buck**  
No per social media accounts.  
No marriage license.  
No per tax records, files single. 

Shaking his head at the implications of finding his tax filing status - seriously, did she just hack the IRS? - he formed a succinct reply. 

**To: Nat**  
ty

 **To: Buck**  
Would you like his phone number?  
Email?  
Home address?

 **To: Nat**  
jesus nat

 **To: Buck**  
That’s not a no.

 **To: Nat**  
NOOOOOO

“No one forget what I said about the room change for next class! But, that should be all I have for you today. Class dismissed.”

Bucky slammed his laptop closed. Well, shit. Now he had to make a decision to either face Steve now or later. 

If he waited, he would have to face Nat...and he would be found out by Steve eventually when he had to grade students’ papers (which is just weird to think about). Not to mention he needed to ask where the next class would be since he apparently missed that memo. He was definitely not asking Prepubescent Freshman.

Fuck it. Here goes nothing. Bucky raised his head and began confidently walking to the front, side stepping lagging freshmen as the brown nosers by the podium dissipated. 

He could see Steve. Mere _feet_ from him. 

Oh, god, what would he even say?

 _Long time, no see?_ No, too awkward. _How was life after you dropped off the planet?_ No, too passive aggressive. _I missed you._ No, too honest.

What should he even call him?

 _Stevie?_ No, too personal after so long. _Professor?_ No, too awkward. _Rogers?_ Eh.

Well, time was up and Bucky was just standing there with his mouth hung open with nothing coming out, three feet from Steve who had his back to the brunet, packing his bag. 

“Hey,” Steve began, zipping his bag before turning, “what can I-”

The moment of recognition was utterly recognizable. And Bucky still couldn't do anything other than stand there and gawk at the man. 

This close, he could see how strong the six-foot-plus frame is before him; was there ever a time when the blond was taller than him? He could also see the blue arches above Steve’s ears, smaller but still readily identifiable to Bucky as hearing aids. Steve was never one to hide them with subtle colors. Also, on the bridge of Steve’s nose, are two symmetrical indentations that he knew were from wearing glasses - glasses that would always accentuate the blue of his eyes. 

Bucky couldn't place exactly why, but he almost smiled when he notices these latter two details. Despite the major apparent changes, this was still his Stevie. 

“Buck.”

Steve sounded practically breathless yet darted forward anyway, smothering Bucky in a tight embrace. 

At least he had a few more moments to come up with what to say first.

“Buck. You,” Steve took a deep breath and released Bucky as if to look him up and down, “what are you doing here?”

“Apparently I’m takin’ your class, Rogers,” Bucky retorted, easily falling back into the banter despite the time apart. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so tough after all.

“Wh-” Steve’s expression took a 180 upon spotting the empty sleeve, donning a level of frustration that made Bucky think the blond was about to demand names of people to beat up. Yep, some things never change.

“I joined the army,” Bucky quickly supplied just before the door to the lecture hall burst open. Both men turned around to see a new herd of students entering. “You have another class?”

“Yeah, this’ll be my last one today,” Steve regretfully admitted. “You?”

“One more, then a lab,” Bucky spoke, slowly losing his confidence from just moments ago. 

“I,” Steve began, softening his volume as students began to take seats nearby, “We have a lot to catch up on.”

Nodding, Bucky let out a soft, “yeah,” marked with complete agreement because wasn’t that just the understatement of the year.

“After your lab?”

“That’s good,” Bucky hiked his bag up before snagging his phone from his back pocket, “here, add your contact and I’ll let you know when we’re let out.” Steve took the device and began typing as Bucky continued, “should be around 3 or so.”

“I feel like I’m breaking some rule about exchanging numbers with a student,” Steve whispered, shaking his head as he passed the phone back. 

Bucky snorted in response, “your place or mine, professor?”

The bright flush that took over Steve’s face elicited a laugh from Bucky as he spun on his heel and shamelessly sauntered toward the exit, not even awaiting a response to his rhetorical question.


	2. TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star, the dog, makes her debut. 
> 
> Steve and Bucky have a heart-to-heart (read: necessary relationship development). 
> 
> The duo navigates their new relationship descriptor, student-teacher. 
> 
> Comedy naturally ensues.

**To: Steve**  
lab’s done  
u free

Bucky kept staring at his phone, waiting for some sort of response. Maybe he should have typed it all out. Yes, with one hand, it’s easier to truncate even shorthand and don’t even get him started with hunting out punctuation; but, truth be told, Bucky’s just lazy. He’s a one-armed vet, give the man a break, _Nat_.

A chirp from his phone made him hold his breath. God, he was already in over his head with this man. 

**To: Buck**  
Did you skip lab? It’s an hour and a half early.

 **To: Steve**  
nah  
all you profs are lazy on syllabus day

 **To: Buck**  
Jerk. 

Bucky laughed to himself, already typing out the automatic response. 

**To: Steve**  
punk 

**To: Buck**  
I was about to head out for a late lunch if you want to join?  
Meet me at my office?

And there was that fluttery feeling in Bucky’s stomach. 

**To: Steve**  
y  
where?

 **To: Buck**  
Where’s my office? It’s in the syllabus. The same syllabus that I went over today.

 **To: Steve**  
(...)

 **To: Buck**  
...apparently someone wasn’t listening.  
Physics building. Room 309.

Bucky began making his way to the physics building, desperately wanting ask why he wasn’t at least on the same side of campus as the man’s classes. At least he knew where this building was given it was like his second home with all the time spent in labs.

 **To: Buck**  
Did anyone listen to me during class this morning? 

**To: Steve**  
The freshmen found your syllabus review rather riveting.

Bucky was proud of his full sentence structure. It better go appreciated - it took him nearly the whole walk to get the ideal alliteration and punctuation.

 **To: Buck**  
Oh, so he can type in full sentences. 

“Says the man with two arms to the man with one,” Buck, ever the antagonist, retorted as he leaned against the door jam of Steve’s office. 

The look of utter horror that crossed the blond’s face nearly made Bucky erupt into laughter. 

“I’m just messing with you, let’s get some food.”

“Buck, that’s horrible,” Steve replied, evidently refraining from grinning too much as he packed up his bag. At least it was a backpack as opposed to some briefcase. Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle _that_ professorial addition.

“I’ve been without a limb for five years now, it’s fine.”

“Maybe for _you_ ,” Steve countered. “I thought I managed to genuinely offend you.”

“Yes, my poor, delicate sensibilities,” Bucky grasped his chest in feigned pain as Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t make jabs like that at just anyone.”

“I’m honored,” Steve deadpanned as he stood from behind his desk. 

Shaking his head and unable to break the smile from his face, Bucky glanced around the room. The office was small, dwarfed by the desk (which barely housed numerous piles of papers well organized in true Steve fashion) and the single not-so-sturdy bookcase that was practically overflowing. The only sign of a recent move-in were the bare walls; however, even that problem appeared to have a pending remedy if the pile of artwork tilted against the wall was anything to go by.

“It’s not much,” Steve spoke, noting Bucky’s wandering gaze, “and not even in the right department. But, they finally gave me an on-campus office, so I’ll take it.”

“I was wondering how I hadn’t run into you before, this building is practically my home away from home.”

“That so?” Steve gestured Bucky into the hall, locking the door behind the two. 

“Major’s biomed engineering, minor in physics so most of my labs are in here,” Bucky spoke, having to reign in his passion, “along with my project for my senior thesis.”

“Wow, undergrad thesis? Pretty rare.”

“I’m hoping to use it for this internship program after graduation,” Bucky admitted, waving his hand in feigned nonchalance as if The Stark Internship Program was something one just happens upon. Further conversation about it was halted as Steve suddenly squatted next to the bike rack.

“You...ride?”

This may sound like an odd question; however, Bucky had never once seen Steve on a bike. Between the exertion the movement would put on his heart and no lung capacity to speak of, he was just never able to as a child. 

“Yes, Barnes, I learned how to ride a bike,” Steve jovially spat back, wrapping the locking cable around the handlebars before setting off walking again, bike and Bucky in tow. 

“Can’t blame me for asking, punk, the last time I saw you, you woulda keeled over just thinking about riding!”

Laughing at the blatant truth, Steve conceded, “well, a lot’s changed.”

 _No shit_ , Steve, Bucky thought.

“Then tell me, I’m a captive audience since you haven’t even told me where we’re going,” the brunet added, hip checking Steve in the process. 

That’s how Bucky learned about the results of the medical trial. The trial that took his best friend away in high school. But, evidently the same trial that ultimately gave Steve a second lease on life. Overall it was an awe inspiring success. The damage within his frail lungs was reversed while the damage in his heart was repaired by a surgery with the promise that no further cardiac tears would form. Those two aspects alone prompted a growth spurt that was previously inhibited due to the weakness of said organs. 

However, the improvements of the trial didn’t stop there. His eyesight was greatly improved, color becoming more vibrant when he wasn’t even aware anything was missing before. A compromised immune system was a thing of the past as well. 

The only damage the treatment wasn’t able to overcome was his ears; without aid, Steve still had near-complete hearing loss. Yet, that evidently didn’t matter much to Steve who still chose the same vibrant blue for his hearing aids. 

“So, this is home,” Steve spoke softly, as he held open the now unlocked door, before both men made progress upstairs. 

“Need me to-” Bucky snapped his mouth shut; however, Steve was evidently already clued into the evidently habitual offering. 

“No, Buck, I don’t need you to carry my stuff for me,” the blond smirked before climbing the stairs, bike held steadily at shoulder height. 

Shaking his head, Bucky smiled to himself before jabbing, “so, this is a little presumptuous of you, professor, taking me back to your home and all.”

Stumbling on the last step, narrowly avoiding a potentially impressive fall, Steve turned beat red before shooting Bucky a sharp glare. 

“I will fail you,” the blond spat with a level of authority that had Bucky both smirking out of entertainment and widening his eyes out of awe. 

Huffing as he spun around, Steve unlocked the door at the top of the stairs before stepping inside, leaning his bike against the wall to the left.

“You wouldn’t do anything to tarnish my straight-A streak,” Bucky retorted as he glanced around the living room that readily provided a nice view of the kitchen. 

Before Bucky could take anymore in, a pile of fluff launched itself over the back of the couch, landing with a hard thud before taking off to greet the brunet. 

“I always said you were such a nerd,” Steve claimed, toeing off his shoes by the door, to which Bucky rolled his eyes at but nonetheless followed suit. “That’s Star, she’s not a puppy but sure does act like it.”

Trying to give the golden mix as much attention as he could while not getting knocked over, Bucky took the chance to inquire, “Star?”

“Her name at the shelter, she was familiar with it so it stuck,” he explained, shrugging before surfacing from the fridge. “You good with sandwiches? Don’t have much. Wasn’t exactly expecting guests.”

“‘course,” Bucky replied, dropping his bag on the couch before making his way to the barstool overlooking the kitchen, watching Steve pull out various meats and cheeses. “Decide not to go out after all?”

“Technically you’re my student, Buck,” Steve spoke, eliciting an eye roll from the brunet. “And I tend to run into other faculty or students at nearby eats. I’m relatively new and hoping for tenure, I feel everything I do is critiqued; so, I don’t want to chance giving the wrong impression. But, at the same time, I don’t want to not spend time with you.” Groaning as he slathered a piece of bread in mayonnaise, he continued, “I’m making this more complicated than need be.”

A few slices of meat were slapped onto the mayo’d bread, followed by cheese with such mirth Bucky couldn’t help but smile. 

“Steve, I get it, really.” The blond was honestly troubled which Bucky shouldn’t have found quite as adorable, but definitely did. Maybe just one more jab, Bucky deviously thought. “I don’t mind being your dirty little secret.” 

And there was that glorious blush again. 

Okay, he was done playing with the poor man. For now, at least.

Laughing, Bucky quickly elaborated, “in all seriousness, I understand. I don’t want you to jeopardize your job, Steve. If we need to hang out on the DL, so be it.”

“Thank you,” Steve genuinely stated, passing a plate with a sandwich prepared the way Bucky always liked when he was younger. Strategically dropping a slice of ham for Star who inhaled the offering like it was going out of style, Steve continued, “so, you’re practically caught up on my last ten years, what about yours?”

How the hell was one supposed to begin this conversation? 

Sitting in class, all he wanted were answers. Now, he doesn’t even want to broach the subject; because, shit, just like before, he’s unable to contain the truth from Steve for long. Something about that blond just pulls out comfort while busting down barriers. That’s a brutal combination when you’re trying to hide something. 

Just a small something. Like years-long harbored feelings for his best friend that go way beyond _best-friend._

So, what does he say?

_Well, the day you left, I was an absolute wreck. Life really hit the shitter. And didn’t even improve for oh, I don’t know, after I left a limb in the sand of some forsaken foreign country. It only got worse because it took me nearly losing my life to realize my biggest regret._

Nope. 

Don’t say any of that. How about, let’s just not say anything?

Having taken a bite - _you’re just stalling,_ Bucky’s mind (which sounded suspiciously like Nat) supplied - Bucky set down the sandwich and looped his thumb through the chain that he always wore, and tugged a set of dog tags out from his shirt. 

“Army,” Steve concluded to which Bucky could only nod. 

Yeah, this not-talking thing will only go so far. 

Dammit, mental-Nat’s right.

“Yeah, I’ve been back for a while now,” Bucky admitted. There, now maybe he didn’t have to talk about the past. Yay for strategically forced silence. “Been living not far from here, actually.”

“How long?”

“Five years.” _Don’t ask about the first five, please,_ Bucky mentally begged. Yeah, they’ll have to address it sooner or later; but, Bucky’s vote is for the _later_ rather than the sooner. 

“I’ve been here for seven,” Steve said incredulously. 

“Well, I’m on the _right_ side of the Brooklyn Bridge,” Bucky jabbed, glad to get back into the familiar banter that allowed him to partake in his mental plan of perpetually avoiding his current relationship problems. 

Even calling them _relationship_ problems was a stretch. Whatever.

“Still,” Steve added with a soft smile, “I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other. You shoulda tried to track me down.” 

The smile immediately fell from the blond’s face as Bucky’s eyebrows raised. 

“ _I_ should have?”

Steve wasn’t the only one surprised at the vehemence in Bucky’s voice. Evidently, the brunet’s mouth thought they were having this conversation _now_. They _were_ going down that road. Whelp, no backing out now. 

Maybe it was for the best; after all, after Steve’s response, Bucky’s confusion and hurt from being left high and dry so many years ago suddenly felt fresh.

“Steve, you’ve got some damn nerve telling me I shoulda. Remember when you left?” The blond’s expression turned softer as he broke eye contact. But, Bucky refused to let go of his momentum. “When you left _ten_ damn years ago? And after four months you...drop off the face of the planet, Steve.”

Bucky took a deep breath, the unsteady nature of his inhalation surprising him. Apparently the proverbial dam had broken.

“No texts, no calls. You deleted your social media accounts. I even had my mom - my _mom,_ Steve - try to get ahold of yours and _nothing._ Just...nothing.” Bucky took a deep breath. _Good_ , he thought, _kinda steadier_. “Steve-” Bucky’s voice failed him as, for what would be the first time, he spoke his true fear aloud. “I thought you d-”

“Ma died,” Steve interrupted, emotion present but not strong, almost absent, as if from having time for the wound to scar over. “She’s gone, Buck.”

“No,” Bucky’s mind supplied before he could register the nonsensical reply. “How...she was, she was _fine._ ” 

Nodding before letting his head fall into a slight shake as if to change his mind about agreeing with Bucky’s statement, Steve replied, “brain tumor. It was sudden.” Making eye contact for the first time since they broached this topic, Steve elaborated, “she passed in her sleep. Didn’t even know she was sick.” 

Ignoring any qualms Bucky may have held before, the brunet stood suddenly, taking two steps to round the counter separating the two, meeting Steve who had cataloged the movement and moved into the hug accordingly. 

The height difference was wrong. The strength under Bucky’s hand that lay against Steve’s upper back was wrong. The sheer pressure squeezing his own torso was wrong. 

But, somehow, the hug still felt _right_. 

Steve mumbled into Bucky’s neck, “I’m fine. It was years ago. Actually...four months after we left.”

“You shoulda called,” Bucky softly demanded, “I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. Dropped everything and stayed with you so you could finish the trial. Steve, I-”

“That’s why I didn’t, though,” Steve confessed, prompting Bucky to release the blond to flash a look of confusion. “The trial wasn’t going as well as expected. At that point, they weren’t too optimistic so I didn’t want to drag anyone into an obligation that wouldn’t even reach fruition.”

Bucky stared at his childhood friend with a look of horror. _Wouldn’t even reach fruition?_ This was Steve’s _life_ , not just some _project_. Of course he should have been there. “Steve,” he huffed out, not even entirely certain where to begin.

Steve wasn’t going to hear it, though. 

“I know now, Buck, believe me,” a faint smile crossed the blond’s features. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, right?” Rubbing his hand along Bucky’s right upper arm as if _Steve’s_ not the one that needs comforting, he continued. “If anything like that happened now, I’d call you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Steve swore. 

Bucky nodded through a shaky breath before catching Steve’s forearm in his hand, redirecting the two toward the couch. A smile threatened to break through as Buck saw Steve shove the two sandwiches onto Bucky’s plate before obediently following...Star predictably a half step behind.

“Enough shitty stories,” Steve demanded, plopping gracelessly on the couch, snatching his food before getting comfortable, “tell me about your family. How’s the Barnes clan?”

Halting before taking a bite, Bucky took a deep breath before trudging forward, “well, uh-” only to be interrupted by Steve.

“Shit, no.”

Bucky furrowed his brows before realizing Steve must assume Bucky was about to tell him that someone else had passed. “Oh, they’re all alive,” he remedied to which Steve seemed to perk up only to falter as Buck continued. “But, just after high school graduation, dad and ma split.”

Forgoing his sandwich, Bucky decided _to hell with it_ , and began to spill it out in one go.

“Apparently he had something going on the side for a long time, someone _younger_. Guess he was done being the family man and just up and left. Used his legal connections to leave ma with practically nothing. She didn’t admit it, but I knew college for both me and Becks wasn’t financially possible, so I enlisted.” Bucky glanced up gauging Steve’s reaction which was filtering through anger, sorrow, and sadness in rapid succession. 

“That worked out well, able to help send Becks to school - she got a degree, an amazing job, got _married_ -”

“Baby Becks? _Married?_ ”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at Steve’s shocked expression. After all ten years ago, Becca was a preteen who still thought boys were placed on this planet solely to annoy girls. “You’re telling me, pal.”

Steve furrowed his brows, noting Bucky’s exasperation, “uh oh. Do we need to go teach someone a lesson?”

Laughing, Bucky couldn’t help himself, “ol Stevie Rogers always startin’ fights. But, no. He’s a great guy.”

Backing off, Steve refocused, “so, you came back after-”

“-after the explosion, yeah. Lost an arm, gained a spoonful of alphabet soup my therapist calls PTSD. But, I made some new goals - get a degree for starters, biomed-”

“Nerd,” Steve mumbled, not hiding his smile. 

“Shut up, punk, I’m making myself a new arm!”

“Seriously,” Steve tiptoed as if he wasn’t sure if Bucky was yanking his chain which was a definitive possibility with the brunet. 

“Yeah, it’s part of my undergrad thesis,” Buck admitted, quieting his voice as he offered, “you can come by the lab at some point. You know, if it’s not too nerdy for the pretentious artist.”

“Really? I can come see it?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Bucky placated, finally snagging his sandwich - which Star was watching possessively- thankful they were getting away from all the melancholic backstories. “It’s a rudimentary prototype.”

Steve stared at Buck with an expression that could be defined as sheer awe, admiration even. However, _that couldn’t be right_ , Bucky’s brain supplied. _Has he looked at me that way before? Is he_ impressed _?_

Shaking his head and not wanting to delve into those implications, Buck prompted, “what about you? Seem to be doing pretty well for yourself.”

“Well, against all odds, managed to make the art thing work-”

“You mean,” Bucky mumbled through a bite, holding up one finger, “by sheer stubbornness,-” another finger raised, “-to spite all those who said you _couldn’t_ ,-” third finger, “-and a dash of talent.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, “anyway, during undergrad, I held a few shows which helped spread my name around; but, I decided I wanted to do more with it, give back in a way, so, I got my masters and by sheer-”

“Rogers if you say anything other than _sheer skill_ , I’m gonna deck you,” Bucky demanded, pointing toward Steve with his sandwich (a movement Star was strictly cataloguing), already knowing the blond was about to attribute his success with _luck_. 

Steve blushed and let his eyes fall. 

_And isn’t that just adorable_ , Bucky thought. 

“I was hired on here as an assistant professor and hopefully will be tenured...maybe next year?”

“I keep forgetting you’re my professor,” Bucky admitted, scrunching his nose. 

“Don’t remind me,” Steve groaned. 

“Maybe I’ll start sitting in the front row of class.”

“I know you didn’t even listen in class but did you not even read the email I sent?”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply _uh, what email_ , snapping his mouth shut upon realizing that’d make it blatantly obvious that _no, I did not read said email, Mr. Professor, sir_. 

“Barnes,” Steve groaned out, rubbing a hand dramatically over his face. “We were only in that lecture hall for that one class. The other teacher was sick so I told her I’d do her syllabus day, then we go back to our respective labs.”

“Labs?” Bucky gave a hopefully look. Labs were his forte after all.

“Well, the art labs - studios.” Bucky’s expression fell. “So we can paint and draw,” Steve spoke as if it was the most obvious thing. Which, it really was. 

“I thought this was a theoretical course,” Bucky groaned out as he slouched, making a move to shove the last of the crust into his mouth before his attention was captured by Star’s pitiful whine as she shifted impossibly closer. Tossing the bite in the dog’s direction, the retriever practically inhaled the offering before licking her jowls in anticipation for more. 

“You didn’t even read the course description?”

“No, my counselor just told me I had to take this to graduate; so, I just...clicked the enroll button.”

“That explains how you wound up in a class for art majors,” Steve palmed his face in exasperation, “I swear the new registrar people are gonna be the death of me.”

“I don’t wanna change classes now,” Bucky demanded. 

“You’ll be fine as long as you pass.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped in sheer shock. Of course Steve wouldn’t let him fail, right?

“Steven Grant Rogers! You give me anything other than an A and I’ll shove-”

“Then just be a good student,” Steve nodded his head in a sharp definitive motion as if channeling further authority. “No special privileges. Just do the work.”

Groaning like a mature adult, Bucky traipsed into the kitchen to help himself. “I need a beer,” and upon opening the fridge, “Steve, why is there only hipster beer in here?”

“I am _not_ drinking with my student!”

“Why?”

Bucky used the conveniently positioned beer opener magnet before taking a swig, giving a noncommittal shrug to the taste before setting his on the counter to grab a second.

“It’s...weird.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Bucky retorted, snagging his bottle along with the freshly opened one and making his way to the couch. “Don’t make it weird, Stevie.”

Steve failed in attempting to stifle his smirk behind the long pull from his beer as he pulled up the Netflix queue.


	3. THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Bucky nerds out. 
> 
> And, we see a bit from Steve's perspective.

Over the next month, the two men figured out how to be themselves in the new decade, in their new stages of life. 

In the classroom, Bucky tried his damnedest to disrupt Steve. However, as Bucky quickly learned, when Steve was at the front of class, the man was in his element. Totally focused. No matter what weird faces Bucky made-

_“Barnes, if you need to excuse yourself, please do so in a manner that isn’t disruptive to the class.”_

-or obscure text, or how many hundreds of animal gifs, Bucky sent to Steve-

_“Barnes, would you like to share with the class whatever has captivated your attention? Clearly it’s much more interesting than what’s going on here.”_

-Professor Rogers was always ready with a formally constructed retort. It’s such a contrast from when the two spent time together studying whilst grading or just watching reruns of old movies on TV. 

And, Bucky loved seeing this side of Steve. So much so, in fact, that one could even build an argument insinuating Bucky had a competency kink. 

However, that would involve admitting _feelings._ And the last time Bucky admitted said feelings (to _anyone_ ), the man in question had already been off Bucky’s radar for years. Poof. Gone. 

But, now, Steve was here. _Right_ here. And, even to himself, admitting this...crush was even more difficult. Even though, conversely, it was suddenly harder to ignore. 

_Especially_ when the two were alone.

****

****

****

*** *** *** 

The Study Dates, as Nat referred to them, had Bucky realizing how much he missed Steve’s presence.

All through high school, through part of middle school even, the two would more often than not be found together. Both would study, often for different subjects, or Steve would draw while Bucky would read some sci-fi book or Nat Geo magazine. But, the two were both _there_. 

And, Bucky hadn’t realized how much he _really_ missed that. 

_At least I have it now,_ Bucky thought as he stared at Steve who was leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor with his legs sprawled in a vee outlined by an organized chaos of papers. To his left, Star lay sprawled similarly, tail sporadically wagging, jostling the nearest pile of papers ever so slightly. The blond was squinting through his wide rimmed glasses at what Bucky presumed was a student’s drawing, occasionally marking on the corresponding rubric.

As Steve pushed up his glasses with a knuckle only to proceed chewing the end of his pen once again, Bucky couldn’t help but smile. The image was so comforting as it paralleled those numerous days in grade school when Bucky would watch Steve sketch, shoving wire-rimmed glasses further up his nose only to go back to gnawing on the end of his drawing pencil. 

The sound of his phone vibrating against the coffee table interrupted his daydreaming. 

_Damn you, Nat._

**To: Bucky**  
Stop drooling. 

Bucky furrowed his brows. There was no way she knew he was gawking over Steve...again. Well, actually it’s probably very likely she knew. Damn spies.

What does he say though? _I’m not drooling._ No, Nat would just call bullshit on that faster than he could-

 **To: Bucky**  
Don’t even try to deny it. I need to meet him.

 _That’s creepy_ , Bucky thought, but smiled nonetheless. 

“You’re smiling,” Steve softly spoke. 

“Nat,” Bucky replied, raising his phone to provide an explanation before closing out of the text app. 

“Nat?”

“Natasha, she’s my housemate,” Bucky elaborated, “she wants to meet you actually.”

A look of disappointment crossed Steve’s face, marred with a dose of confusion. “Oh, how’d you two meet?”

“Through this roommate-matching thing at the VA,” Bucky paused, still finding a hint of _something_ in Steve’s features. “She actually hit it off with one of the guys from my unit that I meet up with regularly. Think they may be taking the next step soon.”

Bucky definitely noted the way Steve looked relieved upon hearing Nat had a significant other. _Did he think Nat and I...ohhh._ Trying to seal a smile and desperately wanting to know if his theory was right, Bucky just let Steve continue directing the conversation. 

“He plan on proposing soon?”

“If he doesn’t, she will,” Bucky laughed out. 

“So, do, uh,” Steve began uncomfortably, before clearing his throat and readjusting the drawing and rubric in his hand an unnecessary number of times. “Any girlfriend?”

“No,” Bucky replies, smirking as he debated on tacking on a few more words. He hasn’t come out to anyone since his unit, hasn’t really had anyone to come out to given Ma and Becks knew before even he did. But, this was Steve. _What the hell, let’s do it._ “No boyfriend either.”

There was a flash of emotions that Bucky struggled to identify as confusion, disbelief, then...happiness. Steve worked his jaw as if deciding whether or not to make this confession a big deal; he evidently elected to not, for which Bucky was thankful. 

“Same,” Steve supplied. 

Bucky had to bite his bottom lip to refrain from smiling ridiculously as he nodded and looked back down at his notes. 

Progress in the studying department wasn’t being made. 

No, Bucky was too enthralled with divulging potential meanings behind _that_ conversation. 

Fact: Steve was happy that Bucky wasn’t in a relationship. 

Fact: Steve was happy that said potential relationship had the _possibility_ of being with a man.

Fact: Steve was also single, _thank you Jesus, Steven Grant Rogers proclaimed himself as single!_

Resolutely staring at the same sentence of his notes while strategically covering his smile with his hand in a way that he hoped appeared as contemplative, Bucky thought to himself, _there’s a chance._

***** *** *****

Glancing around, Steve felt beyond out of his element. Bits of unidentifiable technology littered the large room - some on tables, others on the floor, and more - oddly enough - hanging from the ceiling.

Steve tried to keep his hands to himself, suddenly uncomfortable with the vast airspace his body accompanied. 

“I haven’t shown anyone that isn’t involved in the project in some way,” Bucky admitted as he shucked off his shirt, fortunately too absorbed in his technology to miss Steve’s unavoidable gulp because _damn, this man’s a sight for sore eyes_ but, the scarring. 

It was more extensive than Steve ever imagined. Angry lines ran down the remnants of the missing limb that spidered onto the brunet’s back. Steve presumed they mirrored such spidering on the front; however, he averted his gaze before he could be accused of blatant staring. Because, well, that was precisely what he was doing.

Blatantly staring. 

“This only works because they were able to amputate below the shoulder,” Bucky continued as he placed five small adhesive pads against the stub below his shoulder. 

Steve nodded although he wasn’t entirely sure why the amputation location was important. If he was being honest with himself, he was still working on remembering the fact that his best friend lacked an arm. 

“Here, if you can get the back one,” Bucky requested, passing Steve an electrode that was connected to the prosthetic by a thin wire. 

Furrowing his brows and giving a non committal hum, Steve paused to watch Bucky attach one of the tiny metal clamps onto the small metal protrusion of the sticky pad before applying the posterior as requested. 

He was so far out of his element. 

But, this was Bucky. He could do it. _Determined expression applied._

_Proceed._

_Shit, he’s been talking._

“-with Dr. Banner - you know, from the biomed department - who had a friend who helped us convert the biochemical feedback mechanism that dictates limb movement into something that can be read, interpreted, and converted into a technological means so code can be utilized to orchestrate the fine motor-”

Bucky stopped upon seeing Steve’s furrowed brows as the blond’s gaze passed between the stump that was now connected via five wires to the prosthetic. 

“Sorry,” Bucky softly spoke, “I can get carried away.”

 _Dammit,_ Steve thought, not wanting Bucky to think he was being ignored. 

“Don’t apologize,” Steve replied, “I just wish I understood what all you were saying.”

Bucky huffed out an embarrassed laugh, reaching into the upper arm of the prosthetic, flipping a switch, eliciting a soft hum, before he attempted at an explanation again.

“The brain tells the arm to move in it’s own language, a language different than that of the prosthetic. So, step one was to create...a translator,” Bucky offered up, shrugging as he attempted to keep the metaphor going. 

Steve nodded in understanding as Bucky slipped a mesh sleeve over the wires and the stump. 

“So, what are you still working on?” Steve inquired, trying to come up with a semi-intelligent sounding question. “What’s preventing you from calling it complete?”

“There’re a few things,” Bucky admitted, somehow making the fingers of the prosthetic flex and extend repeatedly. 

Steve was mystified. 

“Mainly just _two_ things at this point,” Bucky corrected, sliding his stump into the concave opening of the prosthetic before latching a few straps into place - Steve assumed they were to hold the whole contraption in place. But, what did he know? “The first is the power source.”

Metal fingers flexed, extended.

“The current battery is heavy,” Bucky grunted as he lifted the entirety of the prosthetic from its stand. “And it doesn’t last long - we’re estimating eight hours of continuous usage which isn’t reasonable for an every-day-use prosthetic.”

Bucky extended both of his arms in synchronous movement, shifting palms from supine to prone before raising both hands above his head, smiling at Steve, showing truly how proud he was of his creation.

And, he should be proud. Trials and tribulations littered his past and what did Bucky do? Turned them into something beneficial for not only himself but for others - in the future - as well. The man was awe-inspiring, no doubt. 

Steve could wax poetic about this man...all day, every day.

_I think I love this man._

The thought came out of nowhere, startling Steve; however, the more he thought about it, this was _Bucky_ , of course he loved the guy. But, maybe he just still needs to define the _type_ of love. Because this felt like more.

“Also, this battery puts off so much heat I can’t even consider a casing,” Bucky continued, situating himself on a lab stool in front of a computer, booting the device up before turning to look expectantly at Steve.

Steve, who didn’t even know where to begin to break the surface of his confusion. He really didn’t understand the body...or science for that matter. That was always Bucky’s forte. 

“I have so many questions.”

Yep, let’s go with brute honesty. 

Bucky practically beamed, as if he was ready to face whatever ridiculous query Steve proposed. So, Steve started.

“What do you mean _casing_?”

“Something to envelope the whole thing in - acting as skin - so the innards aren’t exposed.”

“Oh,” Steve spoke, expecting some crazy technological explanation. “What material would you even use?”

Bucky bit his bottom lip, evidently preventing himself from going full speed ahead. “I’m glad you asked.” 

Steve’s heart clenched. There’s no other way of describing the feeling the blond felt, _his heart clenched_. Could this man before him be any more adorable?

No. 

The brunet spun around, facing the computer before using both hands to easily navigate the keyboard much to Steve’s astonishment. 

“The dexterity is…”

“It’s something else, right?”

Steve smiled as he stepped closer to Bucky, who beamed with rightfully earned pride. 

“Here’s the schematic for the casing,” Bucky explained as he pulled up a file that illustrated an arm that was _wrapped_ in a series of...well, it looked like metal plates that formed a seamless puzzle. 

“-alloy that actually incorporates vibranium which would be nothing shy of a miracle if we managed to acquire; but, it’d be perfect.”

_Vibranium? Was that even a real thing?_

“Why...would it be ideal?”

“It’s known for its ability to absorb any and all vibration, not to mention it’s ridiculously light weight - a fraction of the weight of steel - and with this design-” Bucky gestured with the metallic limb toward the computer screen, “-it’d essentially be waterproof.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’...”

“But, it’s rare, very rare, and...even more expensive,” Bucky admitted, shrugging before turning back to the computer, closing the documents and logging out. 

“I can’t get over how well you’ve adapted to it,” Steve spoke before he could even consider how his comment could be interpreted as rude. 

“I’ve been tweaking this prototype for about eight months now,” Bucky explained, “it’s rudimentary in the grand scheme of things, but with time, I’ve learned.” Placing the prosthetic back on the stand, Bucky continued speaking while flipping various switches and disconnecting wires that Steve could only speculate on their function. 

“I’ve actually had to adjust my workouts to include shoulders and back more often just due to the weight on this thing,” Bucky huffed out a laugh as he slipped his stump out with a slight grimace, rolling his shoulder. 

_Mmm, muscle,_ Steve’s lizard brain unhelpfully supplied. 

“But you know how to make it lighter - the...battery, right?”

“Yeah…”

Steve furrowed his brows, noting Bucky’s hesitation. “But…?” the blond prompted. 

“I know who has the perfect solution,” Bucky admitted softly as he removed the sleeve, electrodes, and finally the sticky pads from his remaining left limb. 

“And that person is...”

“Heard of Stark?”

Steve shot Bucky a pointed look. One that readily supplied, _of course I’ve heard of Stark, you dimwit. Who hasn’t?_ Because yes, Steve has. He might not be involved in the technological sector, but everyone that had a set of eyes or even remotely kept up with technological advances was at least vaguely familiar with the name _Stark_.

“I applied to his internship program.”

“Dammit, Buck, this is like pulling teeth, spit it out!”

“I applied for the program that’d start after graduation. And...I’ve made it to the final round,” Bucky practically whispered as if concerned speaking the news might will it out of existence. “Only ten applicants make it to the final round. I’m up against people with master’s degrees, publications and who knows what...so I wasn’t too hopeful but I’ve made it. Now I have an interview coming up in a month and a half and…”

“And…?”

“Four will be selected,” Bucky finished with his chest practically heaving with excitement. 

Which was rather distracting as the man still had yet to put a shirt on; however, Steve wasn’t going to be the one to break _that_ news. Nope. 

“That’s amazing!”

Still not thinking too much about the shirtless situation - or _trying_ not to - Steve moved forward, enveloping his best friend in his arms. 

“Steve, we’re on campus,” Bucky whispered into the blond’s ear. 

Right, on campus. 

Shit, Bucky’s his _student_. 

His _half naked_ student.

Quickly releasing the man, Steve tried to school his expression to something he would give to a student as Bucky pulled on his shirt. If the brunet’s smirk was anything to go by, Steve’s expression didn’t quite reach his goal...or he was blushing which was much more likely. 

Dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, looks like the rating will increase to M in a couple chapters...just a heads up. Opinions? Hopefully there are no objections?
> 
> Also, on a side node, y'all's comments make me smile. Thank you, awesome readers!


	4. FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one but good one. 
> 
> Steve meets Nat and Clint. 
> 
> Nat is her usual intimidating self. 
> 
> Clint is the disaster we all have come to love. 
> 
> Steve resolutely picks a side. 
> 
> Bucky is now even _more_ outnumbered.

“You’re remembering that _completely_ wrong,” Bucky demanded, walking slightly ahead of Steve toward his and Nat’s shared place. “You instigated it like always!”

“How could you say I instigated it when Brock was the jackass that was givin’ that lady a hard time?” Steve retorted, spreading his arms, nearly knocking out the man trying to squeeze by on the sidewalk, apparently forgetting the breadth of his wingspan. Again.

“Steve, her boyfriend was standing _right_ there-”

“-and was just letting it happen,” Steve grumbled out an interruption.

“His hands were on Brock, pushing the dick back,” Bucky continued, unlocking the front door. 

“Well he wasn’t doing a good enough job of it,” Steve spat, forcefully toeing off his shoes out of habit as he stepped into Bucky’s apartment. 

“So you just _had_ to squeeze your ass into their business-”

“I didn’t-”

“Hello boys.”

The soft but authoritative voice snapped both men from their heated debate. 

“Oh, hey, didn’t know you were gonna be home,” Bucky glanced to Steve, desperately wishing he had known to prep his friend for Nat’s particular demeanor before the official meet and greet. “Steve, this is Nat. Nat, Steve.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve ceremoniously extended his hand, “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Nat-asha,” he readily amended, evidently recalling Bucky’s adamancy on using her full name until an invitation to truncate was extended.

Bucky cringed. _A for effort, Steve._

“I could say the same thing about you...professor,” Nat replied with a sharklike smirk. 

Bucky’s groan - _ugh, these two_ \- was interrupted by suspicious banging from the direction of the kitchen. “And what’s Clint doing?”

“Cooking our family dinner,” Nat replied as if said _family dinner_ was an actual thing they did in their household while utterly unperturbed by the sound of shattering glass. 

“Awh, potatoes, no,” Clint groaned from the kitchen. 

“Uh,” Steve began, worried about the man’s safety, “does he need...help?” 

Nat shrugged in response, still not concerned in the least while Bucky’s concerns lied elsewhere.

“Clint, don’t forget what I said about getting my deposit back when I move out!”

“ _Our_ deposit,” Nat corrected to which Bucky rolled his eyes. “Also, I’m pretty sure he turned his hearing aids off.”

Bucky was on his way to ensure the status of his returned safety deposit as Clint rounded the corner carrying a steaming colander of potatoes, dripping dirty potato-water all over the floor without a care in the world. 

“Oh, guest,” Clint perked. 

_Farewell, deposit._

Steve watched as Bucky’s expression turned stern as his hand flew into a flurry of motion that formed truncated yet effective signed words Steve interpreted as _what the fuck are you doing? The potatoes! The carpet!_

Then, suddenly, Steve was alone with Nat in the living room after Clint was shuffled to the kitchen by an irate Bucky, not without a quick, “bye, guest!”

Steve had no idea what to say to the scary redhead. No idea. None. Nada.

Fortunately, she spoke first. 

“James was the one who taught Clint how to sign after he lost most of his hearing from the blast,” Nat supplied without provocation. “It was interesting at first, highly abbreviated,” she continued. Steve nodded, that made sense given the timing meant Bucky was down a limb. “He said he remembered it all from when you taught him.”

Steve’s gaze snapped toward the redhead who donned a soft smile before making her way to the kitchen. 

Nat’s comment brought a whole slew of memories - of Bucky practically begging Steve to teach him a few signs. 

_Just a few more, Stevie,_ young Bucky had said time and time again until the brunet was practically as fluent as Steve himself. 

Shaking his head, Steve followed the noise to find the remainder of the dinner party.

The blond thoroughly enjoyed his time with Bucky’s friends; Clint by default made everyone around him laugh with stories of his accident-ridden life while Nat got along with Steve like a house on fire. 

Bucky couldn’t tell if he was more horrified or elated by that last finding. 

“-can’t wait to get outta this shithole,” Bucky groaned, repeating his dear sentiment for the establishment once again. 

“This _shithole_ happens to be my home,” Nat added, swirling her glass of red as she arched her eye brown in a pointed manner. 

“Yeah, _that I share with you,_ ” Bucky amended, “doesn’t make it any better.”

“Just because the neighbors suck doesn’t mean you have to hate on my property,” Nat said with an air of finality that mean Bucky shouldn’t even point out the fact that they _rent_ , not _own._

“The only redeeming quality is that it’s in Brooklyn.”

“And the only reason you even consider that a redeeming quality is because it’s where you grew up-” Bucky shrugged noncommittally, because this lady was just impossible when she wanted to be. “So, have you started looking for a new place?”

 _And, it was just a matter of time before that’s where this conversation ventured,_ Bucky stretched, setting down his now empty beer bottle as Steve beat him to a response. 

“You’re moving?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Bucky supplied, although that succinct answer hardly yielded the entire story.

“The only reason you’re still at this address is because we’re housemates,” Nat spoke, taking Bucky’s very words from his mouth. “So, what happens when I leave? You move.”

Bucky shot a look of denial, although the thought had crossed his mind. Well, more than crossed his mind. He would move when Nat moved out. But, moving was just...exhausting. So, maybe not?

“You’re telling me you’re gonna rent out my room and risk it with some stranger,” Nat inquired knowing Bucky’s opinion on _that_ option. 

_Fuck no, I’m moving,_ Bucky amended his thoughts. 

“No,” Bucky conceded before turning to Steve to provide a catch up. “The lease is up three weeks after graduation and these two are planning on moving in together-”

“We’ll be on the other side of the bridge, so we keep telling him to look over there,” Clint added. 

“Yeah, it’d also be closer to me,” Steve practically beamed. 

“But it’s so pricey in comparison, I’d have to land an incredibly well-paying job ASAP.”

“Or the internship,” Nat added to which Clint and Steve nodded in agreement, all three practically planning Bucky’s future before him. 

“Yes,” Bucky conceded, “but, I just don’t want to put all my eggs in that basket. It’s highly competitive and-”

“And nothing,” Nat shamelessly interrupted, “you’ll get it.”

“I just need to be prepared in case I _don’t_ and right now, I don’t have any job prospects that are promising enough to begin looking in that area,” Bucky logically supplied. 

_See Ma, I’m adulting!_

“What if you stayed with me?”

Bucky opened his mouth to ask for a repeat or clarification at least because _what?!_ However, Nat beat him to it. 

“Perfect.” She polished off her wine, setting the glass down before continuing, facing Bucky, “you know the area. It’s nice and close to both us and Stark Industries HQ.”

Bucky almost asked how Nat evidently knew Steve’s address before stopping himself, recalling the first day of classes when the redhead used her questionable snooping skills to determine all sorts of data about the blond. 

“And he won’t ask for an unfair amount, you won’t get jipped,” Nat added to which Steve nodded, uniting the two as an unstoppable duo. 

“There’s not enough room, though,” Bucky countered, familiar with the second bedroom’s use as Steve’s studio and attic space that wouldn’t be considered viable for long term housing. 

“Sure there is,” Nat shrugged her shoulders as if the solution is simple, looking to Steve who readily agreed. 

“Of course.”

Furrowing his brows as Steve and Nat appeared to be on the same wavelength, countering his own, Buck pressed, “where?”

“I’ve been meaning to convert the attic into my studio,” Steve explains. “Revamping those massive skylights will give natural lighting, and then I’ll just fix up the walls - new drywall in a couple places, maybe a fresh coat of paint. I just haven’t thought to take on such a big project yet-”

“-and with the additional funds from renting out the second bedroom to James, and with his extra hand-” Nat ignored Clint’s snort at her (debatably) unintentional pun. “-you could easily convert it into the studio.”

“Exactly,” Steve lands his hand onto the table with a resounding thud as if physically demanding the argument having been won. 

Which, if Bucky was being honest - and ignoring how no one is curious about Nat’s knowledge of Steve’s place - the offer on the table was hard to reject. However, there’s something he’s left out. Something big. Something that Bucky’s not totally game for...but…

“I had an interview with this tech giant in DC.”

Bucky was faced with silence. 

Clint looked like a kicked puppy. 

Nat looked scarily determined. 

Steve looked...betrayed. 

_Can you really blame the guy, though,_ Bucky thought. Just after finding each other after ten years, Bucky hinted they might have to separate once more. 

“The interview,” Bucky paused, attempting to be positive about the opportunity, “it went well. I just didn’t want to say anything because it’s not my top choice by any means.” _Because it’s not home._ “But, if I don’t find anything by graduation...” shrugging as a means to end the sentence, he struggled to continue.

“It’s a good gig, doing what I’d like and hopefully, once I get some experience under my belt, I’d be able to find something back here, closer to you three...closer to home.”

Bucky took in the three unconvinced sets of eyes staring back at him. Once again, he couldn’t blame them, he barely convinced himself with that impromptu speech. Yes, the job sounded great on paper; however, his heart wasn’t in it. 

“So,” Nat began, turning to Steve with that determined expression back in full force. “Break it down. What exactly needs to be done for this attic conversion?”

Clint and Steve leaned forward in silent agreement to nonverbally state their decision on Bucky’s potential job, electing to jumpstart this renovation so there is a room waiting for Bucky as soon as the lease was up. 

Sometimes, he wasn’t sure if he loved his friends or hated them. 

Shaking his head, concealing a faint smile, Bucky decided the answer was actually easy. Of course, he loved them. 

A subtle nudge against his knee under the table snapped his attention to Steve, who - still listening to Nat’s impromptu reno schedule - offered a supportive smile. One that spoke volumes: _I’m here for you, no matter what you decide._

Bucky couldn’t help but return the smile, choosing to embrace the fluttering in his gut.

And, maybe he loved one in a different way than the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. Nat+Steve ganging up against Bucky? Normally that's not my go-to BrOTP; but, I feel like that duo totally works here. Thoughts?


	5. FIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tries to do art.

Steve worked his jaw, trying to decide how to approach the angry footsteps behind him that kept pace just behind from the art studio all the way to his office. 

Yes, it was Bucky. But, it was _furious_ Bucky. And Steve had a good idea what it was all about.

Flinching as Bucky slammed the door shut, Steve sat behind his desk.

“Buck,” Steve began in a placating manner, “I-”

“What the fuck is this, Steve?” The brunet slammed a few stapled papers down on the desk.

Taking a deep breath, Steve donned a more professorial demeanor. This was a slippery slope, he knew they had to draw the line between friends and professor-student for this conversation; but, it was... _awkward_. 

“It’s what you turned in for the last assignment.”

“Don’t you pull this professor crap with me, Rogers.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, genuinely shocked that Bucky apparently wasn’t going to separate the two relationships. _Shit, this isn’t gonna end well_ , Steve thought.

“In this instance, I _am_ your professor, Buck.”

Fuming, the man standing gritted through clenched teeth, “you gave me an F. A fuckin’ F!”

“I did,” Steve admitted, gesturing with his chin to the striking evidence on the table before them in the form of an essay demarcated with an F.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Buck, you didn’t even follow the one rule for the assignment,” Steve argued, “I asked you to do art, any form, any medium, just do art in a way you illustrate what we’ve been going over in class. And you wrote me an essay on the parallels between biology and _colors_!”

“Because that’s what I _know_! I have no idea how to _do art, Steven_.”

“That’s why you’re taking this class, _James_ ,” Steve countered, taking a deep breath before this became a ridiculous finger-pointing, petty shoving match.

Bucky appeared to do the same, sliding a hand through his hair as he situated himself on the chair opposite Steve. 

“Steve, this is the first F I’ve received,” Bucky reluctantly admitted in a way that spoke volumes of the frustrations directed to himself. “Can you give me another chance...please?”

Sighing, desperately wanting to help his friend but knowing his student deserved the grade, Steve sank his face into his hands, elbows on his desk. “I can’t give you special treatment, Buck. We talked-”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Bucky chewed on his lip thoughtfully before adding, “but, what if you offer something to the whole class? Like, additional credit. Like half the credit back if we do some extra project?”

“That…” Steve thought, making sure he wasn’t agreeing to something solely because Bucky was his best friend... _and hopefully more at some point,_ his devilish mind supplied. “That may just work.”

“Please, I’ll do anything,” Bucky grumbled in a way that made Steve smirk. 

“I’ve never known Bucky Barnes to be a beggar.”

“Shut up, punk, my grades mean a lot.”

The smile was there on the brunet’s face, along with remnants of that self-blame. “You didn’t even follow the rubric, listen to the parameters.”

“I thought I could get away with it since it was you, to be honest,” Bucky softly admitted. “And...I just don’t know how to _do_ art. So, I just stuck to what I do know.”

“Why not merge both?”

“I tried,” Bucky deadpanned, glaring daggers at the offensive F. 

“Don’t write me another damn essay,” Steve demanded with a hint on a whine, “I hate grading grammar.”

Bucky snorted at the honesty. “Then what do you suggest?”

Steve smirked, providing a simple cryptic “you’ll see” before asking Bucky to make himself scarce before the brunet was late to his next class. 

Taking a page from Nat’s book, Steve didn’t mention anything about his _you’ll see_ until later, specifically after the next class. The same class where he announced the solution to remedying subpar grades. _Bucky’s_ solution that required any student who wished to improve grades to do _more_ art. 

Which is how Bucky found himself hours later, after all classes and labs had completed, in Steve’s studio on the unfamiliar half of campus with the blond _doing art_. 

Glancing at his borrowed grey shirt with smudges of every color under the spectrum before glancing at Steve’s similarly decorated white tee, Bucky nodded to the vast white paper in front of the two. 

“Uh…”

Yes, Bucky was hoping to use something a little more intelligible than the single syllable; however, he was intimidated by the nearly seven foot tall piece of butcher paper and bucket of tubes of paint Steve seemed to be beaming about. 

“Steve, I am so far out of my element here.”

“What would make you feel more comfortable?”

Steve set the bucket of tubes on the floor, muscles bulging from the worn sleeves, distracting Bucky substantially... _how about you stop acting so God damned attractive?_ Bucky traitorous brain thought.

“Being in my lab,” Bucky actually said. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s my space.” And, yes, Bucky knew he sounded stubborn. 

“Come on, Buck, what about it makes you comfortable, and not just because you’ve had all your labs there. Initially, what made you feel at home with it?”

“It’s not…” pausing to think of a way to put it, Bucky settled with, “foreign. It speaks my language.” Steve nods for him to continue. “I know biomed.”

“Break it down, more simplistic.”

Furrowing his brows once more, Bucky hesitated, “I know biology?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Smart ass,” the brunet retorted, “I’m telling you. I know biology.”

“So, let’s use that,” Steve said like _doing art_ was suddenly that simple. “What’s your preferred focus in biology?”

_That,_ Buck could answer. “The synaptic pathways that define the neural-”

“Back up,” Steve interrupted, smiling at _some_ progress Bucky had yet to see. “Bigger picture.”

“The...human body.”

“Okay,” Steve walked to the left, standing with his back against the paper, facing Bucky with arms slightly spread and legs shoulder-width apart. “Draw a rough outline.”

Picking up a pencil and walking toward Steve’s form, Bucky hesitantly lifted the utensil, starting at the juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder, and drew a small arc. Moving to the shoulder and down Steve’s arm, Bucky nodded in confidence. Drawing prosthetic schematics, even if it was all via a computer, was similar enough to this. 

_Maybe Steve’s onto something._

Pausing at hip level, Bucky contemplated how to proceed. _What the hell is the etiquette for outlining a person’s legs? Just stop at the hips? No. Awkwardly bend over? Nah. Kneel with your face at crotch level? Eh._

Bucky was making this way more complicated than need be. 

Taking a knee and shoving all thoughts of...well, anything not art related aside, Bucky continued his outline. Down Steve’s left leg, back up the inseam - _thank you, Jesus, for this wonderful view_ \- and back down the right leg, and...wait. 

“Steve, you moved,” Bucky double tapped the inside of Steve’s left thigh to prompt the man to shift back to the left a tad. “There we go,” he spoke, adding a couple more tick marks before glancing up. And would you look at that.

Taking what appeared to be an involuntary gulp, Steve was staring resolutely forward as a blush dusted his cheeks and neck. 

_Did I do that?_

Bucky smirked as he stood, continuing his crude outline before taking a step back, “alright.”

Taking a deep breath and quickly stepping away from the paper Steve clapped his hands together. “Now pick...an organ.”

“Heart,” Bucky chose at random, smirking as he entertained thoughts about his evident effect on Steve.

“Assign it a color,” Steve added, gesturing to the tubes of paint.

Going with his gut which wasn’t all that creative, Bucky ventured, “red?” Steve raised his eyebrows in evident disapproval of Bucky’s lack of decisiveness. “Red,” the brunet amended, receiving a nod of approval in return. 

“Okay, paint it.”

Catching the tube tossed his way, Bucky screwed open the cap with one handed before wondering how Steve expected him to actually paint. There were no brushes in the vicinity; was he supposed to...finger paint? Squeezing the tube, he noted the paint was thick enough to just _smear_.

Steve’s expression provided no indication whatsoever. Just a smug look that spoke of how entertained the blond was watching Bucky fumble. 

_Fine, Rogers,_ Bucky thought, _finger painting it is, dammit._

After squeezing a dollop onto the paper, Bucky passed the now capless tube back to Steve and shoved the red goop around until it vaguely resembled the shape of an anatomical heart, aorta included. _Vaguely._

“Is there anything you’d assign red, as well?”

Bucky paused, taking in what Steve said. So, there is rhyme and reason to this color system... _of course there is, we’re dealing with Steve,_ Bucky amended. But Bucky got to make up the system. 

Well, the heart’s part of the cardiovascular system. 

Bucky held out his hand prompting Steve to squeeze another dollop of red paint onto the tips of his fingers. It took Bucky just a couple minutes, once he elected to forgo realism, settling for a rudimentary outline of the major arteries. 

Before continuing, Bucky paused, wondering why Steve had such an expectant look on his face. _How could what we’ve learned in class be incorporated into a preschool-level drawing of a person?_

_Damn, what have we learned in class?_ Bucky furrowed his brow, struggling to remember something that could actually be incorporated...with ease. Colors. Bucky knew his colors. But that obviously won’t be enough to get his grade back. 

_Ah!_ Bucky thought, _color compliments! Good enough._

“What’s next?”

Bucky smiled, probably more proud of his idea than he should be. “Green,” he confidently supplied, holding out his hand without bothering to rid the excess red. 

Squeezing a dollop of the requested color, Steve had a faint smile, but still mainly looked curious. “Why?”

“Veins,” Bucky spoke, already tracing a crude sketch of the venous system, flanking the arteries every step of the way. “They’re the _compliment_ to arteries. But still the opposite...in a way at least. I could explain it to you; but,” Bucky threw a smirk over his shoulder, “I’m afraid it’d be too much for your artist brain.”

“You do realize that ultimately it’s _my_ opinion on this piece that dictates your grade, right?”

Even knowing Steve was just joking, Bucky lessened his smile, looking rightfully put in his place. 

Steve huffed out a laugh, “keep going.”

So, he did until two hours later, not only was the massive paper covered in paint but so was Bucky’s entire forearm...and Steve’s hair (Bucky just couldn’t resist). 

As both men stepped back and looked at the wildly illustrated, vaguely-human form before them, Steve would inquire about various color choices - what Bucky presumed was supposed to be the _grading_ of the assignment. 

Bucky was doing pretty good at bullshitting some of his color selections if he didn’t say so himself. 

“Why is there a rainbow dick?”

Bucky snorted at Steve’s blatant question - attributing his blunt nature to the inadvertent late night - before countering, “uh...I didn’t draw a dick...”

Steve points to an oblong segment of caked on paint, sure enough all colors of the rainbow. 

“Steve, that’s the rectum.”

Turning his head to the side and squinting, the blond gave a slight nod, still looking confused, “why the colors?”

Shrugging, Bucky replied, “it’s full of all the shit the rest of the body rejected.” 

Yeah, his bullshitting ability was running low at this point.

“Alright,” Steve yawned, “A-plus...or half of whatever you missed. Not failing,” Steve amends, waving his hand vaguely through the air. 

Plowing into the blond without any fair warning, Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulder, surprising even himself upon having to go on tip toes to make the height.

“Dammit, Steve, I could just kiss you right now.”

_Oh, shit_ , Bucky thought once his mind caught up with his words. 

“Do you say that to all of your professors,” Steve retorted with a devilish smile. 

_Whew, he took it well_.

“Nah,” Bucky readily spat back, grateful for the comfortable banter, electing to see how far Steve would let him go, “only one.”

_Jackpot,_ Bucky thought, watching the blush from Steve’s face travel south. 

“Apparently my brain to mouth filter is…” Bucky scrunched his nose, trying to find an apt word amidst his tired, devilish thoughts, “offline.”

“Oh, the brain to mouth filter?” Steve sarcastically inquired, putting away the paint before pointing to the masterpiece, “and what color did you choose for _that_?”

“Rainbow, like you dick, Rogers,” Bucky deadpanned, mentally fist-pumping as Steve erupted into laughter. That sound will always be music to his ears. 

It’s official, Bucky was irrevocably in love with this man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd y'all like sassy Bucky?


	6. SIX

Bucky abandoned his sprawled position on the couch to lean forward and snag the remote, turning on closed captions and muting the TV before flopping gracelessly back down. 

“What’s that for?” Steve huffs, still rubbing the tops of his ears where his hearing aids have evidently been causing discomfort. 

“I can tell you want to take ‘em out for the night,” Bucky says nonchalantly. 

“They’re fine,” Steve retorts, leaning for the remote as Bucky levels him with a stern glance. 

“Steve, it’s just me.”

Conceding, the blond stretched before standing, “you don’t have to keep it muted though.”

“Then I’d start laughing at all the jokes before you’d be able to read them,” Bucky smirked.

“Jerk,” Steve huffed out through a smile, making his way to his bedroom to properly store the devices. See, Clint, some people know how to not lose their hearing aids. 

“Punk,” Bucky can’t help but mumble, despite knowing Steve wouldn’t have heard.

 _Better?_ , Bucky signed when Steve returned. 

“Yeah,” Steve replied, tacking on a genuine, “thanks,” as he resituated on the couch, legs sprawled impressively far into Bucky’s space. 

Not that the brunet minded one bit. He just smiled to himself, settling back into the couch, basking in the presence of the man he loved...desperately hoping it wasn’t unrequited. 

The sound of a choked off snore broke Bucky from his thoughts, well more like from his sleep, although he had no idea when he conked out. 

Following the sound, he couldn’t help but let out a huff of a laugh; Steve was sprawled out even more than before - if that was even possible - out cold. Turning off the TV, Bucky stretched before giving Steve’s knee a squeeze, easily rousing the blond from sleep. 

“Wha?” Steve startled awake, squinting and glancing around before obliging Bucky’s insistent gesture to stand up. 

Rubbing his eyes with his right hand, Steve shuffled his feet toward his bedroom, reaching out and ensnaring Bucky’s arm before getting too far. 

“Uh, Steve,” Bucky began, unsure if Steve was hearing anything he was saying - let alone, awake enough to even understand what he was implying, “I can just go home.”

Steve pointed to his ears before apparently taking a(n accurate) guess as to what Bucky said and responded accordingly, “it’s late, Buck. Just crash here.”

Bucky nodded, willing his mind to stay away from any non-sleep related bed activities which was surprisingly easy given his exhaustion. Whelp, it was easy until Steve shamelessly disrobed, jeans and shirt hitting the floor, before flopping onto the bed, managing to get one whole leg tangled in the sheet before simply giving up and going lax. 

Standing and staring, Bucky allowed himself one minute - albeit probably much longer, he wasn’t actually timing himself - of daydreaming. One minute or thinking about the future and what it _could_ hold. With him and Steve in a relationship that was defined by more than just friendship. That involved going to bed and waking up to the view before him. 

Bucky headed to the bathroom before climbing into bed on the opposite side as Steve, a smile on his face the entire time. _It’s just like those sleepovers when we were young kids_ , Bucky tells himself. _Just without all the...y’know, feelings._

It was easy to draw comparisons to before, until Steve shifted. And _kept_ shifting until his back was firmly adhered to Bucky’s chest and his ass _firmly_ pressed into the cradle of Bucky’s hips. 

_Whelp._

Bucky slowly released a breath, causing some of the blond hairs at Steve’s nape to flutter, before slowly settling his right arm around Steve’s waist. The blond gave a soft hum before further settling into Bucky’s embrace. 

“I love you, Stevie,” he whispered as softly as possible.

*** *** ***

Steve was practically doubled over in laughter at yet another Clint-tragedy story, which Bucky and Nat not only witnessed in person but also heard reiterated another dozen times over the last year. Nonetheless, Bucky was heartily laughing as well.

Steve had invited Bucky to the bar so he could meet Sam who was travelling in from DC with his husband. Given Steve and Nat got along scarily well, she was also invited, and thus, naturally, Clint tagged along since inviting Nat really means inviting Nat+Clint. 

Ultimately, they were there to meet Steve’s friends. Which was why Bucky was startled when Clint shouted-

“Riles!”

Bucky glanced to the front where Clint’s attention was fully captivated to see - much to his surprise - Riley from their unit, making a beeline to their table having been summoned by Clint’s bar-wide proclamation.

Riley pulled Bucky into a fierce hug to which Steve and Riley’s plus-one shared confused glances. 

“This is him,” Riley boasted, firmly gripping Bucky’s shoulder while pointing to the brunet, beaming at Sam, “this is Sarge!”

Bucky felt a familiar twist in his gut, awaiting the awkward _thank you for your service_ spiel that he assumed people felt obligated to orate. 

“My man, thank you,” Riley’s plus-one began, pulling the brunet into a hug ( _and here it goes,_ Bucky thought). “Thank you for teaching this guy to dance so he wasn’t a total fool at our wedding.”

As he was released, Bucky couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh, pleasantly surprised by where the thanks was directed but also finally connecting the dots about who this man was - Sammy, the man Riley often spoke so highly of. 

“So, you know Sam?” Steve furrowed his brows, evidently trying and failing to draw the connections. 

“Riley - his husband - was in our unit,” Bucky supplied. “So, this is Sam, your friend from college?”

“Yeah, the one who moved away for work,” Steve jabbed, feigning a continued grudge to which Sam rolled his eyes. 

The moment was interrupted by Riley’s sudden cackling laughter; Bucky glanced over to see Riley gripping Clint’s phone with one hand and the owner’s shoulder with the other. Clint was beaming mischievously. 

“Sarge, have you seen this?” Riley tilted the screen in Bucky’s direction, still jostling the image amidst the laughter, “there’s evidence of you teaching me the moves!”

Bucky grabbed the phone to steady the image and couldn’t refrain the smile forming across his face. 

In the foreground were two men in fatigues, one with the uniform helmet - Riley - and the other with brown hair on the longer side of regulation and a full beard, Bucky. The two were in an awkward embrace, both staring at their feet as if trying to dance and failing miserably. 

In the background are two men with respective weapons perched nearby, both in mid-laugh. The one on the right is readily identifiable as Clint.

Tilting the photo to Steve, Bucky began explaining, “that’s Riles-”

“-and that’s Barnes with a damn bush growing on his face-” Clint managed to huff out through laughter, still egged on by Riley. 

“Not like we had the luxury of being able to shave much around when this was taken,” Bucky defended. 

“Shit, Sarge,” Riley dropped his volume, “you still had two arms here,” he added almost guiltily. 

“How else do you think I was able to take lead for that waltz?” 

Riley smiled at Bucky’s successful attempt to lighten the mood before being hauled away by Clint to get drinks for the table. 

“Look, I-” Sam began in front of Bucky. “I don’t know how to say this.” Bucky’s brows furrow as the man in front of him continues. “I’ve always wanted to say thank you; but, now that you’re here in front of me it seems so...insufficient. Riley told me what you did-”

Bucky swallowed, not quite uncomfortable, just...hesitant as to how this conversation would tread further. He felt a subtle warmth against his back, Steve’s hand; the comfortable weight grounded him in an instant. 

“You saved his life,” Sam blatantly spoke, emitting nothing but sheer gratitude. “You got him out of the way of that blast, taking the hit yourself, and-” swallowing, Sam made eye contact with Bucky before finishing, “I can never thank you enough. And from the way he tells it, you saved another life that night as well,” he finished softly, glancing pointedly to the bar where Riley and Clint were jostling each other in brotherly camaraderie. 

Riley and Clint. The two men closest to the explosive. Two of the men in Bucky’s unit, his family.

When Bucky clocked the position of the IED ahead of their position, his body moved before his mind could even formulate a warning. 

Bucky caught Natasha nodding in understanding and agreement. 

Feeling Steve’s gentle squeeze on his shoulder broke Bucky from his reverie. “He’s makin’ me into some sorta hero and-”

“And you are,” Sam spoke with finality. 

“Agreed,” Nat reaffirmed in a tone that would seem nonchalant to the casual listener yet to Bucky, the single word held weight, held adamacy.

Bucky leaned back ever so slightly into Steve’s barely-there touch, needing the grounding as he attempted to figure out what to say, the emotional weight of the situation already leaps and bounds beyond his comfort level. 

“The party has now begun,” Clint boisterously declared, the stack of shot glasses precariously tilting in his hand as Riley raised a bottle of who knows what with a “whoop!”

The spell was broken, allowing Bucky to take a deep breath. 

Steve side-stepped thus allowing his hand to slowly drag down Bucky’s back - to which the brunet quickly checked his facial expression for Nat would have readily picked up on the way _that_ affected him. 

_Okay, new distraction. Alcohol, yay._

“I have to teach tomorrow,” the blond responded as a shot glass was set in front of him. 

Laughing - partly because Steve just sounded like an old fart, partly because laughter is the best way to disguise you’ve fallen madly for your best friend, duh - Bucky pulled his shot glass closer. 

As the glasses were filled by Riley, Steve shot an arrogant glance to Bucky before levelling him with his best professorial tone, “You may or may not have a pop quiz tomorrow morning.”

“Damn you, Rogers,” Bucky replied before tossing back shot number one of the night. 

Steve, never the one to back down from an apparent challenge, copied the motion. 

Sam snorted, trying to keep his shot down while laughing, “oh shit, he’s _that_ student you told me about?”

Steve glared at Sam. 

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. 

Riley and Clint erupted into laughter. 

Natasha replenished the liquor. 

Steve and Bucky took another shot. 

Professor Rogers cancelled class the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I contemplated merging this chapter with the last since they're both finished; but, they have totally different moods. The latter, well... _stuff_ happens. The new rating will be earned. 
> 
> Also, I have an epilogue in the works based on some ideas y'all have thrown out. It's still in the bullet-points-and-cringeworthy-grammatical-errors stage; but, I'm excited for it's potential. 
> 
> On a final note, my vote is that "Steve: The Aggressive Cuddler" is canon. All those in favor?


	7. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have doubts about my smut-writing ability; so, I hope y'all enjoy the approach I've taken!

Steve startled as his office door slammed against the wall from being thrust open so suddenly. Bucky was standing in the door frame looking...well, frazzled, for the lack of a better word. 

The brunet was breathing deeply as though he just ran to campus from who knows where and, in his hand, was a piece of paper. 

“Uh, Buck…” Steve ventured, hoping the other man would give him _something_ to gauge the situation by. 

“It’s here.”

“What’s...here?” Steve glances behind Bucky half expecting a... _something_ to enter the scene.

“The letter.”

There’s one heart beat then Steve _got it_. 

“ _The_ letter.”

“ _The_ letter,” Bucky reaffirmed. “The decision on the internship.”

Smiling, because _of course Bucky made it_ , Steve ventured, “well have you opened it?”

Bucky nodded while biting his lower lip, evidently preventing a blinding smile. Steve wanted to smother this man in his arms...and mouth if he was being entirely honest. 

“You got it,” Steve declared. 

Bucky nodded to which Steve darted around his desk and pulled the man into his arms, shoving his face into the juncture of Bucky’s neck, desperately wishing he could plant a congratulatory kiss on skin.

“So, we’re gonna be housemates?”

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky said, laughing through a megawatt smile, “we’re gonna be housemates.”

*** *** ***

“Steve,” Bucky groaned out from his sprawled position on the floor, one leg draped on the side of the couch, the other under the dog’s head as acting pillow.

“ _Rogers_ ,” the brunet groaned out this time...the fourth time he attempted to garner the blond’s attention.

“ _Professor._ ” Fifth.

“Yes?” Steve nonchalantly replied.

“I’m dying,” Bucky declared. 

“And suddenly you sound _just_ like the freshman in my Intro to Art History course,” Steve mulled over the current exam, flipping a page as he squinted through his glasses. 

_Beautiful_ , his mind supplied as his mouth - fortunately - decided to just orate, “punk.”

Snapping the exam shut and writing some determined grade on the front, Steve slid off his glasses, rubbed his face then leveled a determined glance at Bucky. “I say we take a break.”

“Yes,” Bucky exclaimed, evidently disrupting Star’s slumber if the dog’s look of disapproval was any indication. “I’m game for anything other than studying.”

Snorting at the honesty, Steve decided two can play that game, “alright, since the drywall’s been replaced, we’ll start painting the studio.”

“So, that means you finally picked a color?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Steve retorted, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. “I went with eggshell.”

“So, not the white, but the _white_ ,” Bucky feigned the pompous attitude that he always donned while discussing the intricacies of Steve’s paint preferences. 

“And _there’s_ my A plus student,” Steve smiled back, not falling into Bucky’s trap of arguing over the subtle differences of whites. Again. 

“Steve, I don’t think I’ll be able to help actually,” Bucky spoke in a somber tone as he stroked the fine hairs of Star’s head which had not so subtly shifted from his leg to his chest. “My best girl is in need of my attention.”

“ _Your_ best girl?”

Bucky shot the blond a contemplative glance. “Fine, I’ll share.”

“Well, in that case, you can go get our girl a treat since we’re about to lock her down here alone while I get all the paint stuff ready,” Steve smirked as he headed toward the door leading upstairs. 

Bucky couldn’t help but smile. 

_Our girl,_ he thought, _our dog, it’s almost like we have a kid._

That thought gave Bucky pause. 

_Because wouldn’t that be somethin’?_

With an unbridled smile on his face, Bucky gave Star a treat (or three) and made his way to the attic where he spent the next hour thinking about a fantasy future with Steve because _why the fuck not?_

For Christ’s sake, they were painting a part of _their house_ (well, basically in a few weeks) eggshell while _their dog_ was downstairs. Bucky could fantasize if he damn well wanted to. 

“That okay, Buck?” Steve asked with an entertained tone lacing his voice. 

_Oh, he’s been talking,_ Bucky concluded, pausing mid stroke, just then noticing that completing that section of the ceiling meant he was done. Yes, he had to paint the ceiling. The things he _did_ for this man.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, completely unaware what he just agreed to. 

“Alright,” Steve gently began as he reached in front of Bucky with one of the smaller brushes that had been dipped into a paint two shades darker than eggshell to draw abstract accent markings to _provide ambiance_ (sure, Steven). “I’ll just squeeze in here,” he continued, stepping into Bucky’s personal space. 

_Oh,_ Bucky thought, _he just needed me to shift over._

Taking a step to the right, Bucky set his roller brush aside and allowed Steve a little more room to complete the current...line? squiggle? marking? that he was working on. 

If Bucky was being honest, he had no idea what Steve was striving for with these intricacies; however, watching the man in his element was something else. There was this _way_ that Steve moved the brush, almost as an extension of himself, as if he maintained this level of innate knowledge of how the bristles would execute his vision. He was an artist working with his favorite medium. And it just _worked_. 

Not only for Steve, but for Bucky as well who had determined - with certainty now - that competency, specifically when it came to Steve, was a _thing_ for him. 

“What do you think?” Steve gently asked, squinting his eyes as he glanced at the wall where his previous strokes had spread. 

“It’s...great,” Bucky said. 

“Buck, you’re not even looking,” Steve jested as he tossed the smaller brush down before glancing at the brunet...who was, oddly enough, staring directly at him. 

Because of course Bucky wasn’t staring at the paint, he was staring at something better. And as much as his mind cringed at the cheesiness of his thoughts, it was true. Steve was, well, great. _Perfect._ Everything he wanted. Everything he needed. 

“Buck?”

And now was apparently the time to tell the blond. 

Bucky opened his mouth, only to have nothing come out. Closing it once more, the brunet let out a soft smile, one that spoke volumes of vulnerability. There was no way he could just _say_ it. Nope. 

Reaching forward with his hand, Bucky gently cupped Steve’s jaw, attempting to catalogue his reactions for a hint of anything...anything at all. Surprise. Leaning forward ever so slightly, Bucky saw Steve’s expression soften into something that could be interpreted as hope; so, he went for it. 

When their lips met, it was everything Bucky had dreamt of...except, it was quick. Like, _really_ quick. 

“Buck,” Steve’s brows furrowed as he backed away and for a split second Bucky thought he made a terrible mistake. “Why...why now? Why not then?”

The blond glanced down at his body as if it had personally offended him and suddenly Bucky connected the dots. His new body, Steve’s assuming _that’s_ the reason for the seemingly newfound affection. 

_Well_ , Bucky thought, _Ma always said honesty’s the best policy._

“I guess I just didn’t know back then-”

“What, you’ve had some sort of gay epiphany you’re about to tell me about,” Steve jested. 

Bucky couldn’t help but snort, “I’m bi for starters-”

“God dammit, Buck, you know what I mean,” Steve retorted, attempting to maintain levity but clearly anxious for the genuine rationale. 

So Bucky took a breath and spoke the truth.

“When that IED...I just…” another deep breath because this was a hell of a lot easier two seconds ago in his mind. 

“They always say,” Bucky began again, “that you see your life flash before your eyes when you have a near death experience. Well, I only saw one thing. A color...blue.” Swallowing and making sure to make eye contact, Bucky began, “the same blue I’m staring at now.”

Steve swallowed as his brows furrowed, in an evident attempt to want to believe Bucky for every syllable he orated. With newfound confidence at how much Steve evidently wanted this to be _something_ , Bucky continued. 

“I always thought that was so damn cliché, too...poetic. But, coming out of something like that, being on death’s door as literally as one can be, you finally... _I_ finally,” Bucky corrected, “I realized there were things that I wasn’t being honest about with myself. For starters…”

Pausing as his brain catches up, because holy hell, he was about to tell Steve he loved him, Bucky took a deep breath, ashamed at how shakey it seemed. 

“What, Buck?” Steve’s voice seemed so frail yet so full of hope, of which his former self used to be the embodiment. “What weren’t you being honest about?”

_I love him._

“Loving you.”

And, there it was. The blatant truth. 

Casting his eyes downward and blinking rapidly as if to keep tears at bay, Steve mumbled out, “then why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure if I’d be good enough for you, now,” Bucky answered with his gut, surprising even himself with the newfound knowledge. “I didn’t just leave a piece of my body in that fucking sand, Steve. I left...a lot more. I’ve worked through it, though, as I’ve told you. And, I feel much better. I’m getting there.” Bucky paused, thinking about the gravity of the truth he just spoke, the weight the admissions held. 

And, then his devious mind took the reins; because if Bucky was known for one thing with Steve, it’s being able to deliver the world’s most cringeworthy theatrics.

“I’m...almost whole,” Bucky amended, trying to refrain from smiling, hoping to get the entire joke out before laughing. 

“Almost…?” 

“I’m still missing one thing,” Bucky added, biting his bottom lip to dam laughter.

The blond closed his eyes, evidently fighting back a smile with a cringe, “don’t you dare say it, Buck. That’s too damn cheesy...even for you.”

“But, it’s true,” Bucky relents, letting out a slight laugh, moving his hand back to Steve’s jaw, “I’m missing _you_ , Stevie. As more than a friend, hell, more than a _best_ friend, I-”

Already moving forward, Steve cut Bucky off by mumbling, “I love you, too, Buck,” against the brunet’s lips. 

Somehow, the two managed to make it (sans paint) down the attic ladder, down the hall, and into Steve’s bedroom, shucking off shirts and pants along the way. 

They tumbled onto the large bed, hands never leaving the other’s skin, trying to make up for lost time, attempting to get impossibly closer despite still wearing boxers...and in Steve’s case, socks as well. 

“You don’t even know how many times I’ve fantasized about this,” Bucky breathlessly huffed out, grinding his hips up into Steve’s as he mouthed at the juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder. 

He quickly learned that made Steve squirm in a downright pornographic way. _God, this man knew how to move his hips._

“Tell me,” Steve demanded with one hand intertwined with brown locks, the other slowly rucking Bucky’s boxers down the side of his hip. “Tell me about your fantasies.”

“Well, for starters,” Bucky began, concealing a smirk by nipping at the warm skin on Steve’s shoulder, “you weren’t wearing these _ridiculous_ old man socks.”

“Dammit, Barnes, you can ask me to take my socks off _without_ killing the mood,” Steve laughed out, struggling to rid himself of the offending garments and failing spectacularly, allowing Bucky to get the upper hand and flip the duo over. 

“Who said the mood was killed?” Bucky retorted, smirking as he sat up before trailing his fingers down Steve’s left leg until he reached his ankle, dragging the remaining unnaturally high sock off it’s owner’s foot. 

Both men erupted in laughter because while yes, the sensual nature of the moment had flown off the bed with the socks, nothing defined this duo more than their banter. 

Bucky, still on his knees perched above Steve, rolled his eyes before bending over and licking a stripe just above the elastic of Steve’s boxers. The blond writhed and moaned wonderfully. 

Bucky flattened to his stomach, reaching his hand under Steve to grab the back edge of his boxers as he grasped the front elastic with his teeth, ensuring to graze that impressive length whenever possible, eliciting these little whimpers from the blond every step of the way. 

“Shit, Buck, you’re still my student, I-I can’t,” Steve groaned out. 

Bucky opened his mouth, shamelessly allowing the elastic to snap back into place because _what the fuck, Steve? Now who’s the mood killer?_

“God dammit, Steve, why do you choose now to be the rule follower?”

“Buck,” Steve began, covering his eyes with his hand. 

“I know,” Bucky conceded, scooting up a bit so his face was chest level as opposed to crotch level - a tad more conducive for conversing. Letting out a moan before face planting onto those golden pectorals, Bucky thrusts his hips forward, “how I just wanna tie you up and fuck into you until you forget your own name.”

 _Shit_ , Bucky’s mind supplied. And, yeah, _that_ fantasy apparently just spilled out of his mouth. 

“That sounds...so ridiculous and-”

“Oh shut it, punk,” Bucky groaned, still refusing to make eye contact. 

“I was going to say _ridiculous and amazing._ ”

“Yeah?” Bucky inquired, perching up with a hopeful tone. 

“Yeah,” Steve nods, the beginnings of a blush forming across his cheeks. And, _ohhhh_ , Bucky’s mind supplied. “When’s graduation?”

“Do we have to wait ‘til then? How about until grades are posted?”

“Bucky-”

“Fine, you’re right,” Bucky conceded, only because he didn’t want to remotely risk Steve’s job. “A week and a half, ten days.”

“So, do you have any plans that night?” Steve ventured, raking a hand through Bucky’s hair. 

“Yeah,” Bucky supplied, a plan already forming in his mind. 

Steve groaned in response, to which Bucky blatantly smirked. 

“Said plans involve you being tied to the bed with bondage rope I plan on buying with your Prime account in...oh, fifteen minutes.” 

Steve’s pupils visibly dilated before his eyes fluttered shut as another wet-dream-worthy groan fell from those lips. 

“Uh huh,” Bucky egged on. 

“Wait,” Steve paused, allowing his brain to catch up, “why in fifteen minutes?”

“Because I’m about to go to your shower while you sit here and listen to me jerk off, screaming your name as I come,” Bucky confidently spoke as he uprighted himself, now kneeling once more over Steve’s supine form. 

“Fuck.”

Bucky smirked as he slid off the bed before pausing and glancing back before adding, “that’s only if you give me an A... _professor_.”

And now it was Steve’s turn to smirk, “think you deserved it?”

Bucky looked conflicted for a moment, torn between his fun bravado and genuine concern for his grades. “Yes,” he settled with, orated definitively.

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” Steve stretched his arms up, settling his hands behind his head, shamelessly enjoying the view as Bucky furrowed his brows before confidently sauntering off toward the bathroom.

*** *** ***

**ELEVEN DAYS LATER**

Bucky was roused from sleep by light streaming in from a slit of the curtains; reaching blindly upward to readjust his pillow, Bucky’s hand came into contact with soft loops of _something._

Then, it hit him. 

Last night. 

Smiling, yet still needing to see more to reaffirm that everything was in fact _real_ , Bucky sat up slowly. Above his pillow, still tied to the headboard lay blue loops of soft rope, the remnants of the intricate knots used to restrain the blond as Bucky took him apart, one fantasy at a time. 

Shifting his gaze further, Bucky was met with the glorious view of a subtly snoring Steve, out cold but still with the slight smile that was present hours ago when the two finally succumbed to sleep.

If Bucky squinted enough, he could make out the faint markings of where his ropes had bound and his mouth had claimed. The sight made his heart skip a beat because, yes. 

_Yes_ , it was real. It was all real and better than anything his mind could have fabricated.

Shaking his head, smiling to himself, Bucky’s gaze abruptly halted by a splash of vibrant purple haphazardly draped over the dresser. 

Furrowing his brows to identify the fabric, Bucky couldn’t contain a smirk. 

His cap and gown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue is in the works! But, given I'm not sure when I will finish, I don't want to mark this work as incomplete. So, be sure to bookmark and/or subscribe so y'all will be notified upon the update!
> 
> And, what did y'all think?

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully my randomly thought-up AU is providing entertainment! Let me know what y'all think!


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